PART 2

28. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Like most other young matrons, Meg began her married life
with the determination to be a model housekeeper. John should
find home a paradise, he should always see a smiling face,
should fare sumptuously every day, and never know the loss of
a button. She brought so much love, energy, and cheerfulness
to the work that she could not but succeed, in spite of some
obstacles. Her paradise was not a tranquil one, for the little
woman fussed, was over-anxious to please, and bustled about like
a true Martha, cumbered with many cares. She was too tired, sometimes,
even to smile, John grew dyspeptic after a course of dainty
dishes and ungratefully demanded plain fare. As for buttons,
she soon learned to wonder where they went, to shake her head over
the carelessness of men, and to threaten to make him sew them
on himself, and see if his work would stand impatient and clumsy
fingers any better than hers.

They were very happy, even after they discovered that they
couldn't live on love alone. John did not find Meg's beauty diminished,
though she beamed at him from behind the familiar coffee pot.
Nor did Meg miss any of the romance from the daily parting, when her
husband followed up his kiss with the tender inquiry, "Shall I send
some veal or mutton for dinner, darling?" The little house ceased
to be a glorified bower, but it became a home, and the young couple
soon felt that it was a change for the better. At first they played
keep-house, and frolicked over it like children. Then John took
steadily to business, feeling the cares of the head of a family upon
his shoulders, and Meg laid by her cambric wrappers, put on a big apron,
and fell to work, as before said, with more energy than discretion.

While the cooking mania lasted she went through Mrs. Cornelius's
Receipt Book as if it were a mathematical exercise, working out the
problems with patience and care. Sometimes her family were invited
in to help eat up a too bounteous feast of successes, or Lotty would
be privately dispatched with a batch of failures, which were to be
concealed from all eyes in the convenient stomachs of the little
Hummels. An evening with John over the account books usually produced
a temporary lull in the culinary enthusiasm, and a frugal fit
would ensue, during which the poor man was put through a course of
bread pudding, hash, and warmed-over coffee, which tried his soul,
although he bore it with praiseworthy fortitude. Before the golden
mean was found, however, Meg added to her domestic possessions what
young couples seldom get on long without, a family jar.